


Little Lion

by Kittles123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jaime's Awkward Boner June Fest, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-29 16:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11444703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123
Summary: Jaime has a series of erections that take him from King's Landing, to Winterfell, to Volantis and beyond!





	1. The Dungeon

**Author's Note:**

> This starts as sort of post-canon and then it gets weird (but hopefully in a good way!). Also, there are non-Brienne related Jaime boners, but its early in the fic and I am a total J/B shipper so it should end satisfactorily :D I apologize for any typos or grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy - I love this community, and I am so stoked for the new season!

**The Dungeon**

 

Jaime rested his head against the stone of his cell, deep in the bowels of the Red Keep.  Cersei was in the cell beside him.  Not that he could see her, or even hear her.  She did not speak or cry or scream, and from the sound of it she barely even moved.  Occasionally he would hear the scuffle of straw whispering about the dirt floor as she made her way to the chamber pot.  No, he knew it was her because he could feel her.  And as much as she told him that they would die together as the Lannister lines crumbled around them, it appeared it was not to happen.  Not just yet anyway.  Leniency had been granted.

It had helped that his brother was the Hand of the Queen.  Once the Keep was lost, Bronn advised prudence, and Jaime rethought his vow to cut his little brother in two the next time he saw him.  Also, Tyrion was perched on the back of a dragon, so that would have made bisecting him a touch more difficult.

For at least a week, Jaime had lived in a world of darkness.  He spoke through his cell door to Cersei, but she never answered him.  He begged her to answer, and when she didn’t he cursed her and raged in his cell.  Jaime knew that he was useless to her now.  Already short a sword hand, he was also worthless to her in another way.  In the months before the fall, after he’d returned from Riverrun, she’d visited him often, taking him aggressively in a desperate attempt to get herself with child.  This one would be a golden lion, the greatest king Westeros had ever seen, she’d told him as she ran her fingers through his hair. She’d dreamed it, envisioned it even.  “We are meant to be together, Jaime, forever.  It is the will of the gods themselves, and they will bless us with a child so perfect he will be near a god himself.”

He could feel her sigh against his cheek even now, in the stagnant air of his cell.  His cock stirred in his breeches and he groaned and let his head thud against the wall behind him.  It was wrong to love her in the way he did, but fuck, he couldn’t help it.  She was all he had ever known.  He clenched his hand and closed his eyes and she was on top of him, sliding up and down his length.  Her nails dug into his shoulders and her tongue lashed his own.  He slipped his hand into his breeches and began to stroke himself to relieve the ache.  Her voice, raspy with need, whispered to him and he came.  Hot spurts of semen trickled down his knuckles and then he stood up and roared in rage.

“Cersei!” he bellowed at the door.  “Answer me!  Answer me you vicious cunt!”  He bashed his shoulder into his cell door.  “I know you’re in there!”  Then he screamed until his throat was raw, until he realized that she would never answer him. That to her he was nothing but the male version of herself, a sword arm, a stud horse.  Then he wept.


	2. The Inn at the Crossroads

**The Inn at the Crossroads**

 

They weren’t even to the Neck and he was already freezing.  The wind blew from the northeast and send a chill to the bone.  His white destrier puffed out a cloud of crystallized air and seemed to toss her head in agreement.  He road near the back of what remained of the Lannister forces with the baggage train rumbling along behind him.  Ahead lay the north and a battle against something which he did not quite comprehend.  A man can only be told so much - the walking dead and ice demons were something he would have to see with his own eyes to fully accept.

Tyrion had appointed him commander, and had saved his neck as well.  He was sure it had taken some effort to convince the Dragon Queen that he had not been an accomplice in Cersei’s escape.  He’d awoken in his cell to the shouts of guards, and he quickly ascertained that his sister was gone.  The heavy wooden door to his own cell came flying open with such force the the hinges shook in their stone setting, and the Unsullied had a look of utter shock on his face when he found Jaime still in there.  Cersei was gone and no one knew how she had escaped, least of all Jaime.  It should have stung more, he thought, but in truth, he did not think he would have gone with her anyway.

“Colder than your sister’s cunt out here,” Bronn said as he cantered up next to him.

“You must think yourself quite the wordsmith,” Jaime said flatly.

“Ah, you can’t be sour forever.  What you need is a good fuck,” Bronn replied and quirked his scraggly brow at him.

Jaime rolled his eyes.  “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, poet  _ and _ scholar.  I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Bronn shrugged.  “How long are we marchin’ today?”

“We’ll stop at the Crossroads Inn.  I need a real meal and bed tonight.”  Though his soldiers would still sleep in their tents, food vendors, weaponsmiths, mummers and whores clustered around inns, so at least they would have entertainment.  Perhaps he should heed Bronn’s advice and…   _ No, the last thing I need is to fuck some whore. _

At the Crossroads, he got himself a room and a bath, then joined Bronn and some of his ranking men in the common room.  The proprietor of the inn, a surly old woman, was not thrilled to see an army approaching her place of business, but when she saw the bag of dragons Jaime offered, she quickly changed her tune.  Now, the whitestone building was open and festive with fires roaring.  Roasted pig, heaping bowls of potatoes and roasted vegetables from their food stores covered the tables.  Jovial voices and drunken songs fill the air, and the party extended outside where bonfires roared.

And there were whores.  Word got around that the Kingslayer was there and it did not take long for the women to try their luck.  Jaime feigned disinterest and Bronn ultimately reaped the benefits of that.

“Gods, your brother couldn’t get enough of them and you won’t touch them!” Bronn remarked as he smacked a girl on the ass and gave her his cup to refill.

Jaime drained his own tankard.  “Tyrion has a voracious appetite when it comes to women.”

“And you don’t?  Tell me, you’ve truly never been with another woman, have you?”

Jaime handed his tankard away for a refill and did not answer.

“I didn’t think so.  Kind of pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”  Bronn’s girl returned with his cup and he took it while giving her a dashing smile.  “What you've missed out on Kingslayer - makes me want to cry, really.”  He drank deep and pulled the girl into his lap.  She was curvaceous with big breasts and a plump ass, and she was fair of face and hair.  She swatted at him playfully then leaned towards Jaime.

“I have lots of friends, m’lord.  Tell me what you like and I will find it for you.”

Jaime smiled weakly at her.   _ I don’t even know what I like.  _ “Thank you, but I’m getting tired.”

“The Kingslayer is tired!” Bronn proclaimed.  “Let’s leave him to his sulking, shall we?”  He scooped the girl up and she squealed and wrapped her arms about his neck as if he had just saved her from some great harm.  Jaime had always wanted to feel that, but Cersei never needed saving.  And when she did, she saved herself at the expense of everyone around her.  He felt a dark mood begin to settle on him, but just then his tankard returned, carried by a serving girl with hair black as a raven’s wing.

“M’lord,” she said and placed the drink before him.  She tried to keep her eyes averted, but Jaime caught them darting up to glance at his face.  A rosy blush spread upon her pale cheeks and she slipped away as fast as she had appeared.  He watched her move through the crowd, her lithe figure gliding between groups of soldiers, until she made her way to the hearth.  She swept her hair from her forehead then rolled up her sleeves and heaved the iron kettle off the fire.  Muscles rippled along the length of her arms as she rocked the kettle onto a stand and began filling bowls with piping hot stew.  Then she looked across the room at him.  Their eyes met and he felt a strange tightening in his abdomen, followed by a pang of hunger.  At first he thought it was the stew, and then as the serving girl flitted her way back across the room toward him, he realized that it was her he craved.

“Rabbit stew, m’lord?” she asked.  Her face glistened with a sheen of sweat from cookfire.  “It’s fresh meat, and I canned the vegetables m’self.”

Jaime felt like his tongue had swollen to twice its size as he searched lamely for words.  “Yes, thank you.”

She watched him expectantly as he tasted it.  The flavors were rich and hearty and blossomed on his tongue, so he wasn’t lying when he told her it was delicious.

“Thank you, m’lord.”  Her eyes were having trouble meeting his again.

“What’s your name?”

“Rose.”

“A fitting name,” he muttered and without thinking, he reached out to touch her face.  He trailed his fingers along her smooth skin then to her ebon black hair.  It was sleek and soft, and he caught the scent of lilac on it.  She did not move away from his touch, but she pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“No m’lord, I’m sorry.”

“Have you a husband?”

“I did.  I lost him in the war.”

“I’m sorry, truly.”   _ I lost my own lover to this war, though not in the same fashion I’d venture. _  “In which battle did he fall?”

“The Whispering Wood.”  Her voice was halting, hesitant.  She swallowed and took a breath.  “He fought for the Young Wolf.  He died for him.  And then the Young Wolf died too.”   She shrugged.  “It’s the way it is.”

Jaime took a drink of his ale and studied the knotted tabletop.  He’d led the men that killed her husband.  Perhaps he’d killed the boy himself with his own hand, his right hand.  But that hand was gone now.  It seemed so long ago.

“I should retire, but I would take another tankard or two of ale in my room.”  He could feel the heat between them.  It was palpable, hot as the sun on his skin in summer, or the hearth upon his face in winter.

“I will bring them.”  He words were laced with intent, lust and a bit of fear.

He had but minutes to wait in his room before she came knocking softly at the door.  He’d used the time to shed his riding clothes, sword belt, and golden hand.  That fucking thing was more useless than the stump.  Perhaps he would leave it here, and he kicked it under the bed.  He wondered what the girl would think of his stump but ultimately decided that he did not care.

“Come in,” he said, and the door opened a crack, but it was enough for her to slip her slim frame through.  She closed it softly behind her.  She carried no tankards, he noticed with amusement.   _ No pretences. _  Fuck, he was going to do this.  He was going to fuck another woman.  His cock was hard but his stomach churned in trepidation.  It was only ever to be Cersei.  He imagined Bronn snickering at him then pushed Cersei from his mind.

The girl came to stand before him.  Upon closer inspection, she was more than a girl.  Definitely a woman grown.  Not as old as himself, but old enough to have seen something about the world.  He was surprised she had not remarried in the time since the Whispering Wood.  Then his mind went blank as she ran her calloused hands down his cheeks.  The sensation was strange.  Cersei’s hands were smooth.  They had never worked a day in their life, while these hands were capable and adept.

He pulled her down to straddle his lap and before he could think or worry or shy away, her lips her upon his.  It took his breath away and a wave of anxiety washed over him.  He’d always thought his lips were meant for Cersei and no one else, but he found himself enjoying the kiss.  Her lips were soft and timid yet hungry.  Cersei’s kisses had always been demanding carrying with them a sense of urgency.  This was different.   _ Rose.  Her name is Rose. _

He let his hand roam around her waist, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt and found hard muscle and protruding ribs beneath.  Flat planes and sharp edges.  She must have starved during the winter, but she had survived.  She raised her arms and he slipped the shirt off over her head.  Her glossy black curls cascaded about her shoulders and he kissed her neck as she pressed herself against him.  Her belly was taut and her breasts were high and small.  Cersei was soft and full from childbearing, but Rose still had the body of a maiden.  His cock was hard and she ground down against him, rubbing against him and he finally groaned into her hair.  She craned her neck back, exposing her perk breasts and he froze.  Did she wish for him to touch her there, to take her rosy nipples into his mouth?  Cersei would, but did all women like that?  He sat there, reddening with embarrassment, but Rose seemed not to notice.  Her hands freed his cock and, reacting on instinct, he took one of her small pink nipples into his mouth and sucked.  Her moans encouraged him, and he pushed her smallclothes to the side beneath her skirts and seated his head against her.  Then he captured her other nipple in his mouth as he caressed her ass and began to enter her.

She panted and whimpered then moaned as he sheathed himself.  Then he began to move in her, and she grabbed his hair and kissed him, sighing against his lips as she rubbed against him, taking charge of her own pleasure and reminding him that she was no maiden.  Before long he felt her clench around him, and once she was finished, he grabbed one of her hips and thrust up into her a few times, then pulled out at the last moment to spill his seed onto his own belly.

They did not speak as she cleaned herself up and straightened her tousled hair.  Even after she’d done her best, she still looked well-fucked and sated he noted with an absurd amount of pride.   _ Well, there’s that.  I’m one step closer to making the eight.  I wonder how many times over Tyrion has done it.   _ Though he felt relief, as if he had just fought in his first tourney, he did not feel particularly good otherwise.  Then when he saw Rose padding silently to the door, he frowned and stopped her.

“You’re leaving?” he asked and immediately felt pathetic.

Rose turned to face him and let her hand fall from the doorknob.  “I did not think you would want me here in the morning.  For anyone to see me leaving your room.  I would not want your lady wife to find out.”

“I have no wife, and I would have you stay if you’re willing.”

A genuine smile graced her face and nodded.  “I am.”

She stayed with him until dawn when he took her once more, and then the Lannister army moved out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the major non-Brienne boner I was talking about. But I hope it comes across as rebound sex during which Jaime shakes off the fact that he has only slept with Cersei.


	3. The Eve Before Battle

**The Eve Before Battle**

 

Red and gold tents littered the snowfields outside the walls of Winterfell.  They had been encamped for nearly a week as commanders, lords, and Kings strategized for the battle to come.  It was a blessing for Jaime.  With his mind put to military matters, he had no time to think about what had happened in King’s Landing.  He did not even dream of Cersei at night.  It felt as if she had been gone years instead of months.  Maybe she had.

On the eve of battle, the Stark bastard and the Onion Knight appeared at his tent flap.  When Jon Snow entered, Jaime nearly gasped at the sight of him.  He looked like a northern king of old, covered in furs and leather with Valyrian steel at his side.  The boy’s eyes were battle hardened and and scrutinizing intelligence lay behind them.   _ Perhaps it would do me well to think of him as a king, because the foolish pup I saw years ago is gone.   _ The meeting left him with a renewed optimism that maybe they were not all riding to their deaths.

Then a large shadow blocked the light of the torch through the tent flap and a head of white blonde hair ducked in.   _ Lady Brienne.   _ He’d thought not to see her before the battle.  She would be in the White Wolf’s party hunting down the Night King.  She looked leaner and stronger than the last time he’d seen her, and she wore the deep blue armor he’d given her.  Oathkeeper hung at her hip.  He smiled despite himself.  Podrick followed in her wake.

“Your Grace,” she said.  “The dragons will be here soon.  A scouting party spotted them on the southern horizon.”

“Thank you, Lady Brienne,” Jon Snow replied, then he and his Hand took their leave.

“Lady Brienne.  Podrick,” Jaime said.

“Ser Jaime, it is good to see you in one piece.”  Brienne arched a brow at him and he saw a twinkle in her eye.

“Ser Jaime, there is no room for me in King Jon’s party, and I was wondering if I could fight under the Lannister banner.”  The lad’s voice nearly cracked.  Jaime felt flattered that at least Podrick still thought of him as someone worth respecting.

“Of course,” Jaime said.  “Find Bronn.  He’ll see to it.”  Bronn would keep the lad safe as well, though from the look of him, Podrick did not need much protecting any more.

“Can I see to your armor before you depart, my lady?” Podrick asked.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jaime interjected.

Podrick hesitated.

“Go on, Pod,” Brienne said as she shed her furs as well as a finer cloak she wore beneath them.

“Yes, my lady.  And, thank you Ser Jaime.”  Podrick left and tugged the tent flap closed behind him.

“It looks like you’ve forged the boy into a real swordsman.”  Jaime came around the battered table in the center of the tent and approached her.  Luckily, she already wore her armor and just needed all the fastenings checked, a much easier task to do.  He knelt and started with the legs and worked his way up.

“He has come a long way and should serve you well.”  She carried on a bit but Jaime found himself distracted.  He thought back to his time as a squire and then as a fledgling knight of the Kingsguard.  One night before their shared guard duty of King Aerys, he’d tightened Ser Arthur Dayne’s straps in much the same way.  The man spoke little when Prince Rhaegar was not present, but tonight found the brilliant knight’s tongue loosened, by drink or perhaps by exhaustion, Jaime did not know.  Ser Arthur spoke to him about their duty to the king, but what his words did not say, the look in his eyes betrayed.  Dayne hated it too - the ravings of a mad king, the screams of the Queen beyond the bedchamber door, the smell of burnt flesh in the throne room.

Brienne adjusted her gauntlet and brought him back to the present.  What did Aerys matter anymore?  The dead were walking, and they were coming for them.  Still, he could not shake the feeling that  he was armoring a legendary knight.   _ Strange.  But perhaps I am doing just that.  Though I don’t remember my cock stirring for the Sword of the Morning.   _ He shook the thought from his mind.  So he'd fucked one serving girl and now the little lion, having a taste of freedom, would not lay down?  He nearly laughed, but held it in as he checked the last buckle.

“It seems you’re ready,” he said as he stood.

She turned to face him.  “Thank you, Ser Jaime.”  Her eyes held his. “Stay safe.”

He swallowed.  “At least we are on the same side this time.”

Then she grabbed her fur and left, leaving the finer cloak behind on his desktop.  It was embroidered with the sigil of House Tarth, and he ran his fingertips over it reverently.  He felt an unexpected urge to chase after her, but there was no time to ponder the meaning of that.  Bronn arrived shortly after - they had final details to work out.


	4. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

 

The battle raged and the Lannister line held.  The wights fell by the hundreds, yet they kept coming.  Most wore wilding garb, but some wore the cloaks of the Night’s Watch, and some were dressed in the clothes of the smallfolk of the North.  Brienne did not return.  His brother arrived with his Queen’s dragons.  All three of them, and they turned the tundra into a field of fire.  But the wights kept coming.   _ Gods, will they ever fucking stop? _

And then they did, all of them at once.  They collapsed into piles of bones and rotten flesh, inanimate and benign as a regular corpse.  The White Wolf had slain the Night King.  It was over.  The Lannister line had held.

The victory did not come without cost.  When the White Wolf returned, he was gravely injured.  Half his body was frozen solid.  Swordbite, the fat Maester called it.  The castle fell into a frenzy, fetching ingredients and potions to save their king.  No one had time to care that half of the White Wolf’s party had been lost, including the Maiden Warrior of Tarth.

Jaime hunted down the Onion Knight, and found him outside King Jon’s rooms.  He was talking in hushed tones to a little slip of a thing with brown hair and sharpish features.  She could be no more than a girl of three and ten, yet she was apparently the Lady of Bear Island.  She eyed him with scrutinizing grey eyes as he approached.

“Ser Jaime,” the Onion Knight breathed.  “I’ve heard it was lions who held the line.  The King thanks you for your valiant service.”

The girl nodded to him in agreement with the older man, but remained silent.

“What happened out there?” Jaime asked.  His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he swore everyone could hear it.  It made him feel sick and lightheaded.  But he needed to know.   _ Where is Brienne? _

“Our party was scattered as we closed in on the Night King.”  The Onion Knight’s brow creased and his lips pursed, and Jaime thought he was going to tell him that Brienne was dead.  “Your Lady Brienne’s horse spooked and that was the last I saw of her.  The horse carried her off into the forest, wights following behind.”

Jaime inhaled sharply through his nose then let it out through his mouth.  “She may be alive then?”

“Aye,” the Onion Knight conceded with a tip of his head.  “She may be.  I am organizing search parties as we speak to seek out those missing in action.  We have bloodhounds at the ready.  Perhaps...”  He lowered his voice and pulled Jaime away from the little lady Mormont.  “Perhaps you have a belonging of Lady Brienne’s, an article of clothing, anything with her scent. I will give you a dog to so you can search for her.”

Jaime’s brow furrowed.  He had nothing of Brienne’s, and it perplexed him to no end as to why the Onion Knight thought he would.  Then he remembered.  She’d been wearing a fine cloak beneath her furs when she’d come to his tent before the battle.  Sansa Stark had made it for her.  It was grey and did nothing to bring out her eyes, but it was embroidered with painstakingly intricate suns and moons, the sigil of House Tarth.  She’d left it behind not wanting it soiled in battle.

“I’ll take the hound.”


	5. The Melting Snow

**The Melting Snow**

 

As Brienne lay in a clearing somewhere north of Winterfell, all she could think about was what a stupid way to die this would be.  Crushed beneath her horse and frozen to death.  Miserable oaf - first she'd spooked and then she'd fallen on top of Brienne’s leg.  The horse could have at least done her the courtesy of crushing her to death outright instead of this shit.   _Bloody hells. And if I don’t freeze soon the wights will get me._ It was eerily quiet in the woods, almost peaceful, she thought as she took another handful of snow into her mouth.  The horse had her trapped to mid-thigh.  Oathkeeper had flown from her hand in the fall.  The gleaming steel lay within sight but out of reach, so that ruled out attempting to slaughter the horse.  It would take her two years to cut up the animal with just her dagger.  There was another option that involved the dagger, and it would not take as long, but it was exceedingly more unsavory.  She was unsure if she could even do it.  Then she heard men screaming and she pulled the dagger out and began to cut into her own leg.

After passing out once or twice and making little progress on her leg, she laid her head back on the ground.  The sun shone on her face, and a feeling of warmth washed over her.   _Perhaps I am dying.  Perhaps it would not be so bad to simply fall asleep here and never wake up._  The ground softened beneath her and a warm breeze caressed her face, like a mother’s hand.  Her horse was beginning to rot, so she she turned her face into the ground to avoid the smell, and to her surprise, she smelled earth.  And as she fell asleep, she thought it felt like spring.

 

Something hot and wet lapped at her face, and Brienne forced herself to open her eyes.  It took her a moment to realize it was a dog.  Her favorite hound from her father’s kennels.  She’d loved that dog as a child, and had been devastated when she'd died.  Then the slobbery muzzle moved away and she looked up into the face of Jaime Lannister.  So he was dead too, then.  A more exciting, noble death, no doubt, she thought ruefully.  Probably killed in some valiant last stand while she died under a horse.  But then he grabbed her face roughly and shouted her name.

“Bloody hells,” she groaned.  “Leave me the fuck alone.  I’m dying.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of it,” he replied and held a waterskin to her lips.  She drank greedily then closed her eyes again.

He grabbed her hair and turned her face to him again.  “Can’t leave me yet,” he commanded.  She met his eyes and saw in them a fierce determination laced with fear.

“Okay,” she said dumbly, then watched him mull his options.

First, he tried to use his horse to pull the carcass off her, but the animal stomped and rolled her eyes back into her skull at the sight of one of her dead brethren.  Then he tried to shove the carcass off her.  He grunted and roared as his boots slipped in the dirt until he finally fell face first into a mud puddle.  Then he unsheathed his sword.

“Sorry wench, but there is no other way.  It’s going to get rather bloody… and smelly.”  Then he began to slaughter the dead horse.  It was nearly an hour of putrid guts and blood, crunching bones and snapping tendons.  She dozed some, but most of the time she watched him work.  And then finally, she was free.  She hobbled to his horse and crawled onto it then rested her cheek on its neck.  She felt the beast’s pulse throbbing against her face and breathed in its potent smell.

“What do you think of my rescue operation?” Jaime asked her as he lead the horse into the woods.  “Not bad, if I do say so myself.”

“You’re quite pleased with yourself,” she mumbled into the horse’s mane.  Then she smiled to herself and closed her eyes.


	6. The Dream

**The Dream**

 

Jaime led the horse as far as he dared before finding shelter for the night.  The sun was warm, but as it set, the icy winds returned to whip at his face.  He found a sheltered alcove that he could almost call a cave if he was feeling generous. The horse puffed and tossed her head in annoyance until he unloaded the heavy burden from her back and laid the Maid of Tarth down on his bed roll.  Then he fetched wood and started a fire, feeling confident that it was safe to do so.

“What in the seven hells were you trying to do,” he muttered as he crouched down next to Brienne.  Her pants were ripped and her thigh was sliced clean through to the muscle.  Brienne barely responded, mumbling something unintelligible.   _ Gods, she was trying to cut off her own leg.   _ He forced the thought from his mind - he did not want to think about the sheer desperation she must have felt if she had been willing to attempt it.  He pulled a needle and thread from his pack, cleaned the wound with boiled wine, then stitched it closed.  She did not even flinch as he moved the needle.  Her lips were blue and she was shivering in her sleep.

“Well, I’m not about to let you freeze to death after all the work I’ve done to save you.”

Jaime laid down next to her and pulled the furs over them.  Her skin was so cold it startled him, especially her hands.  He pulled her body close against his and was about to warm one of her hands beneath his clothes, against the bare skin of his abdomen.

“Wait, sword hand first,” he muttered to himself and took a moment to orientate himself.  Then he took her right hand beneath his shirt and pulled the rest of her close.  “You’ll be alright,” he said.  But she was sleeping and the only person he was trying to convince was himself.

_ Sometime in the night he became aware of the fire burning low and a tall cloaked figure moving around the campsite.  He reached for his sword, but it was gone and so was Brienne.  Panic nearly set in, but then the dark figure stepped into the firelight and he saw that it was Brienne, and she wore nothing but her fine cloak bearing the sigil of Tarth. _

_ “What are you doing?” he asked, but she did not answer, only put a few more logs on the fire.  “Brienne, are you alright?”  He propped himself up on his hands. _

_ “The fire was low.”  She walked back to the bedroll. _

_ “You’re going to freeze.  Where are you clothes?.”  Perhaps she had gone mad.  Gods, not her too. _

_ “You took them,” she replied and knelt down next to him. _

_ He shook his head - he’d done no such thing. _

_ She reached out to take his face in her hands.  “You saved me.  I was so scared and thought I was to die, but then you found me.”  Her lips touched his, and his body ignited.  “You’re a true knight, Ser.”  Then he was laying on his back as she kissed down his chest.  His cock strained against the fabric of his breeches, but not for long, because she removed them and then, without hesitation, she took his whole length into her mouth. An awkward, strangled noise emanated from the back of his throat and he clenched the fabric of the bedroll beneath him as his whole world exploded. _

And then he woke up just as something else exploded.  He rolled to his side and stifled a groan, but Brienne was huddled on the other side of the bedroll with her back to him, still sound asleep.  He quickly assessed the situation in his pants which was not as bad as it could have been.  He’d never been grateful to be dehydrated before.   _ Always a first time for everything, it seems. _

He stood up and stoked the fire, then peeked down at Brienne.  She looked better, if only by a little.  The sun was peeking over the horizon but there was a chill in the air and frost on the grass.  The hound came trotting up to him, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.  The dog pranced around like he was pleased with himself, and Jaime swore the hound knew he had done well.  The horse snorted from beneath a thicket of trees, and Jaime went to her and rubbed her neck.  Then as he was feeding and watering the animal, Brienne hobbled out of bed.

“We must regroup,” she said without even saying good morning.

“Calm down, Brienne.  The war is won.  You’d been under that horse for days.”

She frowned.  “How did you happen to find me?”

Jaime scowled.  “I didn’t just  _ happen  _ to find you.  I searched for you.”   _ Perhaps a little gratitude would be in order, wench.   _ His mind slipped back to his dream and a rush of heat surged in his belly.   _ Or perhaps something more - fuck, what is wrong with me. _

“I…” she started, then stumbled for words, as if she still wasn’t quite getting it.  She was looking off into the distance and then her eyes widened.  “Jaime…”

Jaime turned to look, and saw what she saw.  “Fucking hells, what now?”

In the valley below them was an explosion of green.  No, not an explosion, this was a distinct line of green moving across the snow barren land.  “Shit.”  As it rolled closer like the rushing tide, he saw that it was comprised of trees budding and blooming, flowers sprouting, and grass emerging aggressively from the soil.  Spring was here, and it was coming in like a lion right at them.  There was no time to run, no time to hide.  They clasped hands as bark splintered and trees groaned with growing pains.  And then the wave was upon them and it took Jaime’s breath away.  It was as if he had just jumped into a cold river, and his body was in shock for a moment.  His chest seized and he heard Brienne gasp beside him and her hold tightened on his hand.  Then the wave passed and they were standing in a field in full bloom.  Phlox and bee balm blossomed pink and red, trees sprouted with brilliant green foliage and his boots sank into the ground as it softened beneath him.

As they both stared dumbstruck at each other, a warm rain began to fall.  It wasn’t long before rushing streams played across the fresh air.  The horse and the dog both bent their heads to drink from the clear pools of water collecting on the ground and Jaime opened his mouth to catch the rain.  The fat drops splashed against his skin and he was soaked to the bone before long, but he didn’t care.

Brienne stood beside him and ran her hands through her hair.  Dirt and blood ran in rust-colored rivulets down her neck, and then she scrubbed her face with her hands, leaving her skin glowing and her cheeks pink.

“We should start back.  We can make it before nightfall,” Jaime said as he found himself staring at her.

“Yes.  Is your brother still there?”

“I don’t know.  I left in a hurry.  Things were chaotic.”

“Will you return to King’s Landing?”  She seemed embarrassed to ask and averted her eyes.

“I don’t know.  I supposed I will do what the Dragon Queen commands.  And you?  Will you go to Tarth?”  Jaime led the horse by the reins as they began to travel on foot down a muddy path, heading south.

“I hope to.  I have not seen my father in years.”

“I saw it, you know, on my way to Dorne.  It looks beautiful.  I’d like to see it up close some day.”  He did not realize he wanted to visit the island until he said it out loud.  With everything so uncertain in his life, it would be nice to have at least one thing he was certain of - he would find some way to get there.  Perhaps she would invite him to Evenfall Hall.

“I’d like that.  I mean, it would be an honor for Tarth to have you, Ser Jaime.”  She furrowed her brow as she watched the path ahead intently.

“Good.  I’ll make it a top priority then,  _ Lady _ Brienne.”


	7. King's Landing

**King’s Landing**

 

Six months had passed since the war ended and it had been a drudgery for Jaime ever since.  Queen Daenerys ordered him to return to Casterly Rock and get his house in order while Tyrion remained Hand of the Queen in the capital.  Between the paperwork and the incessant meetings with the lords of the smaller houses of the Westerlands, he could not understand why anyone would want to be the head of House Lannister.  The one saving grace of it all was that Bronn was with him and they trained in the yard together daily.  Just when he was beginning to consider fleeing Westeros all together, he received a raven from King’s Landing.  He took the scroll from the Maester and read the message scrawled in Tyrion’s hand.  The Queen was summoning Jaime to the capital.

“Have you heard anything on the state of King’s Landing?” he asked Bronn later when they met for a drink in the common hall.

“There’s little news out of there.  But I’ve heard no one has seen the dragons lately - they are in the pit and want to stay there.”

Jaime waved his hand dismissively.  “I don’t care about dragons unless I’m facing one in battle.  I wonder what this is about then.”

 

He traveled to King’s Landing with a minimal escort and Bronn at his side.  Westeros was a reasonably safe place once again, especially the Westerlands.  Jaime sometimes thought that the smallfolk believed Tywin yet lived on in him, they showed him so much fear.

Once they were in the city, the Unsullied took them to the castle.  Their faces were expressionless, neither welcoming nor hostile.  A maid in the dress of Meereen took him to the quarters the Queen had provided for his stay.  They were well-appointed but small and they overlooked the stables instead of the sea.  He leaned out the window and wrinkled his nose at the stench.  Although he was officially in the Queen’s good graces, there was no love lost between them.

“The Lord Hand invites you to supper with him this evening in the Tower of the Hand.  I will return to escort you there,” the maid said.

“Thanks, but I know the way.”  In the last days of Cersei’s reign, he’d found himself there often, quarrelling with Qyburn.  The unchained Maester was more mad than his sister, and there was no talking sense to him.  Jaime clenched his hand then shook the thoughts from his head.

“Of course.  Would you like a bath drawn?”

“Please.”

“Yes, Ser Jaime,” the girl bowed her head to him, sending waves of black hair tumbling over her shoulders.  She was a pretty girl, with tan skin and high cheeks, and her hair reminded him of the serving girl from the Inn at the Crossroads.  He’d looked for her on his return journey from Winterfell, but she was not there that night.  It was probably for the best; the last thing he needed was to put a bastard in some girl’s belly.  And since then there had been no one, much to Bronn’s disappointment

After a bath, he put on a shirt made of light fabric that was grey in color, then a pair of tan pants.  He wore no Lannister colors or sigils - he did not feel like being recognized tonight.  At some point, he knew he would have to go pay his respects to the queen, but he would ask Tyrion’s advice on how to handle that first.

He made his way out of the keep and down the stone walkway to the Tower of the Hand.  It was hot and balmy outside, and it seemed that King’s Landing had skipped spring completely and went to full summer.  No breeze came off the bay.  The air hung stagnant around him and sweat beaded on his brow.

When he reached the Tower, the Unsullied who stood guard eyed him for a moment then resumed their usual stance of intimidating disinterest.  He climbed the steps to Tyrion’s office and found the door open and the food already spread out on the table.  Tyrion’s face lit up when he saw him.

“Jaime.  Gods, it is good to see a familiar face.”  His little brother looked exhausted but happy.  “Sit down, eat.  Will you have a drink?”  Jaime nodded but noticed Tyrion had no drink himself.  He tried to recall a time that he had ever seen Tyrion  _ without  _ a drink.

“You’ve done well in the Westerlands.  Queen Daenerys is pleased.”  Tyrion said as he loaded a plate with grapes and cubes of cheese.

“Thank you,” he said, and nearly told his brother that he had hated every minute of it.  “So, what urgent matter has brought me here, Lord Hand?”

“Senator, actually,” Tyrion replied with a mouth full of food.  “Well, hopefully if the people will it.”

“What the bloody fuck is a senator?”

“It’s a political official chosen by the people.”

“What people?”

“All the people.  It’s called a democracy.”

“I’m sorry, you’re going to need to explain this to me.”

“Let me go back to the beginning.  Ever since the Queen arrived with her dragons, we knew something was not well with them.  First, their growth began to slow and then it stopped all together.  Now they don’t hunt or fly - all they do is sit in the dragon pit as cow carcasses are wheeled in to feed them.  They are languishing just as the last of the old Targaryen’s dragons did.  The Queen will not suffer to see her children die, so she means to return to Essos with them and rule over Slaver’s Bay again.  Though she will still be queen here, she is humoring me and allowing me to run my little experiment.  There is a cluster of islands deep in the southern seas called the Conch Republic.  They let their people elect their leaders - one to represent each island.  It’s ingenious, really, and the queen has consented to let me try something similar here.”

Jaime scoffed.  “Tyrion, are you insane?  This will only lead to more war.  With the queen gone, some upjumped lordling will try to take her seat.”

Tyrion shook his head.  “But she will not be gone.  She will still be the rightful queen, and she will be ready to come back at a moment’s notice to quell any rebellion.  She also wants at least two councils a year held in Meereen so the senators can be reminded of the might of her dragons.”  He lowered his voice.  “You must tell no one, Jaime, but one of the dragons has laid a clutch of eggs.  They are small and brittle, but we hope they will hatch healthy babies once they are transported back to Essos.”

“So what do you need from me?  Do you need help in organizing these erections, I mean elections?”  He felt his face turn red.  _  For fuck’s sake. _

Tyrion quirked a brow at him but just moved on.  “To travel to the Conch Republic as a representative of Westeros.”

“What? Why me?”

“The people of the Conch Republic are little things.  Not much taller than me I’m told.  They are dark haired with a strange bluish grey skin.  The complete opposite of you.  Like it or not, brother, you are a war hero.  The tales have spread far and wide already, and being as you only have one hand, you are very recognizable.  Now, before you protest too much, I am sending someone else with you.”  Tyrion smiled.

“Who?”

“Brienne of Tarth.”

Jaime didn’t say anything.

“What? I thought you would be pleased.  Aren’t you two old friends? It’s perfect - she’s so gigantic her presence will wow the little island people.”

“So she is some freak to be paraded around?”  There was an unintended bite to his voice.

“No, of course not.  Jaime, I meant no disrespect to the lady.”  Tyrion watched him with evaluating eyes, then added.  “She has yet to choose a husband.”  He tapped his fingers on the table top.

Jaime swallowed thickly.  “I’m sorry.  I would be glad to see her again.  This trip sounds like exactly what I need.”

“Excellent!  Your ship leaves for Tarth tomorrow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point at which things get weird - on to Jaime and Brienne's Caribbean vacation! :D


	8. Tarth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just swinging by to pick up Brienne :D

**Tarth**

 

Brienne stood on the docks of Tarth with her father at her side.  He was taller than her by nearly a foot, and she always still felt a child when she was next to him.  Their reunion had been bittersweet.  They had been so close before she left, and now after everything she had done and seen, she felt a distance between them.  And Tarth.  It was good to be home, but she had no idea what to do with herself now.  For years, her life had been one battle after the next, fearing for her life and sleeping out under the stars, or freezing in a tiny room at Winterfell.  Now, she felt like she was floundering and even useless at times.  There was only so much she could stand of training in the yard or walking on the beach.  And her father was starting to broach the subject of marriage.  This trip was exactly what she needed, and her father fully supported it since it was in service of the Queen, though Brienne failed to see how.

A three-masted ship bearing the sails of House Targaryen coasted into harbor.  It was too large to dock, but a skiff dropped down into the water and two Unsullied rowed in to collect her.

“Safe travels, Brienne.  Don’t stay away for too long this time.”  The Evenstar pulled her into his bulky arms and nearly squeezed the life out of her.

“I won’t.  I love you.”  She kissed him on his weathered cheek then climbed into the skiff.

As they neared the ship, a familiar voice called down to her.

“I tried to get off, but they wouldn’t let me.”

She squinted up into the sun and shielded her eyes with her hand.  Jaime leaned over the railing and gestured to Tarth behind her.  “But it’s closer than I got before.”

“Perhaps on the journey home,” Brienne replied then climbed aboard.  He met her at the top of the ladder and took her bag from her.

“You look well,” he said.

“Thank you…” she frowned without meaning too.  “As do you.”   _As you always do, gods he is infuriatingly handsome._  “How are things in the Westerlands?”

“Tedious and boring. And Tarth?”  He raised his brows expectantly.

“The same.  But this seems quite the opposite,” Brienne said as she looked across the mammoth deck of the ship.  She estimated nearly one hundred people covered the deck, with many more belowdecks no doubt.  There were Dothraki and dark skinned Unsullied, pale men of the north and everything in between.  “Are they all going to The Conch Republic?”

“No, this ship only goes as far as Volantis. One thing I can say for the Dragon Queen is that she has made the world a lot smaller.  I’ve never seen so many different people gathered in one place.  And I have never seen a native of the Conch Republic.  Tyrion tells me they are blue.”

“I’ve never seen one either, but I’ve read that they have such a different way of life that they prefer to keep to their own.”

“Well, it won’t be so different for much longer, if Tyrion’s little experiment in democracy goes well.”

Brienne nodded.  “It’s an interesting idea, though a bit brash.”

Jaime grinned.  “Interesting and brash, two words that also happen to describe my brother quite well.”  He handed her bag back.  “I’ll let you get settled.  You don’t get seasick, do you?” he teased.

“Of course not,” Brienne scoffed.  “I was raised on a bloody island.”

“Just checking,” Jaime replied with feigned concern.  “I wouldn't want you to lose your dinner on me.  I’ll see you later.”


	9. Volantis

**Volantis**

 

After a week of uneventful sailing, Jaime found himself in Volantis.  Brienne was preoccupied talking to one of the Unsullied about military tactics, so he went ashore alone the evening they arrived.  He wanted to do a little sightseeing, and one of the Summer Islanders on board had told him about a certain liquor they sold here that he knew Tyrion would like.  Some dark drink made from sugarcane.

The sun was set and torches lit the narrow pathways between the merchant stalls.  The air hung thick and heavy with humidity, and although it was not terribly hot he was sweating before long.  There were plenty of liquor shops along the main drag of the market and he bought a few bottles of the sugarcane booze to take back for Tyrion.  Then he grabbed one more for himself and Brienne.  He’d never seen her drunk, but he’d heard a rumor in the north that she would occasionally imbibe in some alcohol.  The vendor spoke nothing of the Common Tongue, but he smiled and gave him a free glass of the caramel flavored drink that Jaime sipped as he explored the rest of the market.

“Westerosi!  Westerosi, come!” an older woman called from a jewelry shop.  “Westerosi man, see the beautiful jewels.”  She spread her arms wide and a toothy white smile spread across her weathered face.  The drink had made Jaime warm and content, and he smiled back to her and looked at her wares.

“Here, here.  Beautiful.  For Westerosi wife,” the woman murmured as she displayed a bracelet across her own wrist laden with gemstones.  It glowed red in the torchlight.  She continued showing him various pieces as he sipped his drink.

“Ah, I know,” she said once all her gems had failed to spark his interest.  She went to another jewelry box beneath the counter and pulled out a tray of pieces made from brilliant blue stones.  “Lapis Lazuli,” she crooned.

Jaime’s eyes widened.  The stones were polished and smooth but retained some of their natural contours.  He picked up a necklace and held it up appreciatively.  The color was amazing and left him transfixed.  It was the color of Brienne’s eyes.

“Yes?” the woman asked.  “Westerosi man loves his wife.  Yes,” she nodded encouragingly.

He could feel her frozen skin pressed against his body all over again.  Her hand grasping his as spring rolled in.  And long ago, her arms holding him, pulling him back as all he wanted was to drown and die.

He pulled out all the money he had.  “I’ll take it.”

 

Brienne explored the dockside market of Volantis on her own as well.  She decided to heed the advice of the captain and stick to the waterfront.  Overconfidence would get her killed here, she suspected.  And there was an underlying hierarchy to Volantis that she had neither the time nor the want to learn to navigate.

She left the ship just past sunrise in the hope that she would be out of the city before the heat of the day settled in.  The place turned into a hotbox of smells and humidity judging by the breeze that blew out over the bay.  As she strode from stall to stall even at this early hour, she could already feel sweat trickling down her back and her hair was sticking to her forehead.

Her first purchase was from a bookseller from Myr.  He did not speak the Common Tongue, but he carried books in that language and many others.  He had myriad titles in no particular order and she furrowed her brow as she hunched down and cocked her head to the side to read them.  She pulled a few that interested her out of the stacks and turned through them.  They smelled musty and the pages were damp, but there was no fighting the weather in Essos, especially out here on the waterfront.  She settled on two: a fiction novel set during the time of the First Men and a biography of the last king of the Reach.

After wandering for some time, she decided she needed something to drink.  She’d just taken her first sip of watermelon juice when someone called to her from down a side row of stalls.  She peered down the aisle.

“Lady, big lady,” a husky female voice said.

Brienne rolled her eyes. She knew she was big - so big in fact that some people liked to see her up close, like she was some kind of mummer’s act.  She was just about to move on when a tall, dark figure stepped into the aisle and beckoned her.

“Big lady, like me. Come.”  Her voice was deep and melodic, and Brienne was intrigued. She’d never seen a woman as big as herself.  As she drew closer, she saw that the woman was even taller than her with skin as black as coal.  Her head was shaved nearly bald with only a bit of fuzz left.  She wore bangles at her wrists and piercings in her ears and nose, and rich flowing fabric wafted about her muscled body like a cloud.  Her stall was full of similar garments.  Some were dresses and some were flowing pants and shirts, but they were all made of that similar fabric that felt light as air in her fingers.

“Ladies,” the woman said and gestured between the two of them.  Then she started holding up garments to Brienne then cooing in admiration.  “Beautiful.”  Clearly the woman wanted her to buy something.

Brienne did more than humor her.  She bought four dresses and a pair of pants.  One dress in particular she loved.  It was a brilliant aqua blue and tied around her neck and cinched in high on her waist.  She almost felt silly when she twirled in it, but the black woman gasped then nodded her head.  The dresses may have looked ridiculous for all she knew, but it was too hot in the Summer Sea for her to wear the clothes she brought.

Later that evening, she met up with Jaime back on the ship.

“The captain tells me our boat leaves for the Conch Republic tomorrow morning.  We should move our things tonight,” he said.  He carried a few parcels with him, a few in the conspicuous shape of a booze bottle.  “What did you buy?”

Brienne felt her face flush, and she felt foolish.  “Just some things.  A few books.”

“What have you got in here?” he asked as he peeked into the top of the bag of clothes.

“Just some dressses,” she said and clasped the bag closed.

“For who?” he asked in a matter-of-fact voice.  He looked perplexed.

“For me, you ass.”

His face broke into a grin.  “I know, I’m only joking.”

Brienne arched her brow at him.  She wanted to tell him that the woman who sold her the dresses thought she looked beautiful, but to say it would only make her feel a fool, so she left it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to come!


	10. The Conch Republic

**The Conch Republic**

 

The next ship they boarded could barely even be called a boat.  It was more of a keg with sails.  And the passengers and crew left something to be desired as well.  They were a mix of seedy individuals, mostly men with two rough-looking women that Jaime would not have tangled with either.  Everyone eyed each other up as the boat left the harbor of Volantis.  He and Brienne stuck together.  They were at a disadvantage because while it seemed like many of the passengers spoke the Common Tongue, they chose to talk to one another in their own native language.

When they went to find their bunks for the voyage, they found most of them occupied already.  It was an open hold belowdecks with beds built into the boat’s hull.  Brienne found an empty bed near the bow, while Jaime found another far back on the starboard side.

“Share with me,” Jaime muttered as he surveyed the situation.  “I want you close to me.”

“Why?” Brienne asked, clearly offended at the thought that she could not take care of herself.

“To keep me safe, of course,” he replied, and he was only half joking.

“Don’t worry.  Most of them think I’m a man anyway, and who would be fool enough to attack two Westerosi knights?” Brienne replied.

It turned out that some of Jaime’s worry was ill-founded for as soon as the sun set, the entire ship was roaring drunk.  So much so that Jaime had to question who was captaining the vessel.

He found Brienne hunched up in their bunk reading a book amid the sea of drunks.  She was trying her hardest to ignore everyone, but she kept glancing over her shoulder and grumbling.  He decided to get out his sugarcane booze and join the fray.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he poured himself a glass of the amber hued liquor.  He swirled it in his palm then took a sip.  It warmed him right to his belly.

“I’m blending in.  Here.”  He handed her a glassful.  “Drink, I command it.”

She looked up at him, incredulous.  “You _command_ it?  Who are you to give orders?”  Her voice caught the attention of some of the revelers and they watched with rapt interest, but Jaime could tell she was only sparring, not fighting.

“I am the commander of this expedition,” he said and puffed up his chest.   _Gods, I think I’m drunk already_.

“And why do you think that?” she asked with a sarcastic flair in her voice.  Excellent, he’d missed this.  She tossed her book aside and turned to face him, not yet standing.

“I’m older,” he said with ridiculous confidence.

“Well, I’m taller,” she said and stood to her full height.  She was but a hand's breadth away from him now.

“No you're not,” he replied.  She wasn’t, was she?

“The lady is taller, Ser,” yelled one of the passengers.  The hold broke into a raucous laughter.  Jaime smirked and Brienne turned red.

“Drink!” someone yelled.

Finally, she took the glass from Jaime’s hand, and just the touch of her fingers against his skin turned him on.  There was no denying it.  It wasn’t a fluke, or the booze, or any other excuse he could come up with.  It was her.

The pair sat down on their bunk and a couple of the passengers started up a friendly conversation with them.  They were from Braavos and enroute to the Summer Isles on what they would only describe as “business.”  Brienne spoke a bit of Westeros, and then one of the Braavosi noticed Oathkeeper in its scabbard tucked behind her back.

“That is a beautiful weapon, my lady. Valyrian steel?”

“Yes.”

“It is your family’s ancestral sword then?”

“No.  It was a gift,” she muttered and her neck flared red.

“Quite a gift,” the Braavosi replied, then leaned forward and grinned.  “From a man?  Whoever it is from, he must be in love with you to give you such a weapon.”

Jaime thought he heard Brienne let out a high pitched squeak.

“Hopelessly in love, actually,” Jaime chimed in and flashed her a charming smile.

The Braavosi sellswords looked at one another.

“Well, we have some business to go over.  Enjoy your evening,” the talkative one said, and they left them alone.

Before Brienne could say something awkward, Jaime changed the subject.

“Let’s see those dresses you bought.”

Brienne begrudgingly showed him each frock and Jaime had to admit they were perfect for her.  He only then realized that all of her life she had never had clothes that fit properly unless they were made for a man.  He suspected she enjoyed seeing that there were plenty of women out there that were like her.

“Did you buy anything besides booze?” she asked.  Her cheeks were flushed from drink and her shoulder was beginning to bump into his.

“I did,” he said.  The liquor gave him the courage to pull out the little drawstring bag that contained the necklace.  “A gift.”

Brienne took the little purse and dumped the necklace into her palm.  She eyed it closely.  “This is finely made.  Who is it for?”  There was no pretense in her voice, she really did not know.

“For you,” he said simply and then an utter silence fell upon them.  Finally he had to speak again to break it.  “It matches your eyes.  I thought you might like it.”

Brienne looked like she was having trouble breathing.  “Thank you.”

They stared at eachother for a moment, then Jaime grabbed the bottle and poured each of them a fresh glassful.  “What do you say we teach this boat the Bear and the Maiden Fair?”

When they finally retired to bed, they slept back to back, and they continued to do so every night for the rest of the voyage.  Jaime had never slept so good.

 

Brienne and Jaime arrived in the Conch Republic without incident.  They were the only two to disembark; the rest stayed on to travel further east to the Summer Isles.  An interpreter met them at the little dock that looked to be no more than a fishing pier.  And the boy was exactly as she had read a native would look, with a lithe body and greyish blue skin.

“My Ser, My Lady” he said.  “Senator Maroo awaits.”

The boy led them down a thoroughfare through a village of huts with thatched roofs and then turned off onto a path that wound up a hill.  At the top perched a stout castle made of dark grey stones.

She and Jaime entered the great hall of the castle to applause mixed with whispers and curious stares.  The castle itself was older than any Brienne had ever seen, and its design reminded her of Evenfall Hall.  The doorways and staircases were built for people of her and Jaime’s size so it made the natives look even more like children.  Some ancient civilization had built this castle long before the current residents of the island populated it.  A deep, dusky blue man stood stoically at the end of the grand stonewrought room.  They approached him and bowed in the Westerosi fashion.

The dusky man said something in the native language of the island.  It was a sharp and halting dialect and did not flow off the tongue in an eloquent manner.  Their interpreter translated.

“Welcome to The Conch Republic.  I am Senator Maroo.  We are honored to host two heroic knights of Westeros.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Jaime said.

“We are truly fortunate to visit such a wonderful island,” Brienne added.

“We have business to discuss, but tonight will be a time of celebration.  We invite our honored guests to attend the Sunset Festival.”

“Of course, I’m sure we would be delighted to.”

“The Sunset Festival is a time honored tradition that celebrates the union of the Sun God and the Sea Goddess. Every evening, the sun sinks into the sea just as a man and woman unite their bodies, rejoicing in the gift of life.”

Jaime squirmed next to her and she cast him a sideward glare.

“It sounds like a lovely time,” Brienne took over.

“It is.  The God and Goddess dictate that we glorify them by imitating them, and they show us every sunset what we must do to worship them.”

Brienne touched her forehead and glanced at the ground in embarrassment, and Jaime continued to shift around as if a dagger was poking him beneath his pants.  What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

 

Later that evening two tiny women came to her hut to help her dress for the festival.  They both pulled up chairs to stand on and then fussed over her hair for a bit.  She decided to wear the flowing blue dress and she shivered as their dainty fingers tied the fabric behind her neck in a bow.  After she politely declined any makeup, the pair of little women left her.

She slipped on some sandals and then picked up the necklace Jaime had bought her and held it in her hands.  The stones were cool and smooth in her palm  She stared at it, willing it to tell her Jaime’s intentions, what lay beneath his constant japing.  The necklace laid just above her collarbones perfectly and she clasped it behind her neck.

“And here I thought you’d be wearing armor,” Jaime said from the doorway.

Brienne spun around, inadvertently twirling her dress out around her.

“Is that one you bought in Volantis?” he asked and came close to her.  He touched the the fabric of the skirt.  “Very soft.  Well worth it, I’d say.”  Then his eyes settled on the necklace, but for once he did not have any snarky comment for her.  “It suits you well.”

“Thank you,” she said then took his arm with a furrowed brow and then they walked to the festival together.

 

The next morning Brienne woke up early and was unable to fall back asleep.  The festival had been pleasant with delicious food, but exhausting as well.  She and Jaime barely saw one another; they were both too busy being envoys of Westeros and were often pulled in separate directions.  The only moment they had together was when they were asked to dance with one another by Senator Maroo.  Without hesitation, Jaime had taken her into his arms and pulled her close.  “We cannot disappoint our adoring public,” he whispered, then whirled her around the clearing on on the beach.  Considering neither of them had ever heard the music of the Conch Republic, Jaime did a convincing job improvising.

After deciding that there was no possibility that she would get any more sleep, she threw on one of the shorter dresses she had bought, grabbed one of her new books and set out to the beach.

 

The fine white sand warmed her feet as she headed to a canopy that would shelter her from the harshest of the sun’s rays.  She spread a blanket on the beach and opened to the first page of the fictional tale of the First Men.

Just as she was getting into her book, a long shadow fell across her and Jaime sauntered up.  He flopped down in the sand next to her.  Then he leaned back on his right elbow and touched her leg with his left hand, as if she hadn’t already seen him there.

“I’m trying to relax,” she huffed.

“I know.”  His fingers ghosted over the old wound he had stitched up for her.  “You can barely see the scar.  A skilled hand stitched this, perhaps the Archmaester himself?”

“A bit full of ourselves, aren’t we?”  She turned the page in her book, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the pages.

Jaime scoffed.  “Me? Never.”  He was quiet for a bit, but Brienne knew that would not last.  “Are your legs long enough?” he continued.  “It’s amazing you can even sit a horse without them dragging on the ground.”

“I’ve never met a man more fond of his own voice in my entire life.”  But his hand was moving, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin behind her knee.  She found herself willing him to keep going, to move his hand further up her leg.  She risked a look at him over the top of her book.  His eyes were focused as he stared down at her leg, his fingers beginning to massage their way around her knee and then slowly, hesitantly working up her thigh.  Brienne shivered and her heart began to race.   _Bloody hells, woman, calm yourself.  It’s Jaime._

“I missed you in the night,” he continued.  “I’d gotten used to sleeping back to back with you.”

“Don’t tease me Jaime.”

“I’m not.”  Then he looked up at her and their eyes met.  He took his hand from her leg then grabbed the book and tossed it aside.  It landed in the sand with a soft thud.  Her own breath was fast and nervous in her ears, and she thought she might faint as he leaned closer to her.   _Do it, please.  Kiss me and never kiss me again, just give me one moment of bliss._  He reached to cup her face in his hand, and then suddenly there was a crack of thunder and lightning zigzagged across the sky.  The sky had darkened, the ocean roiled and she had not even noticed.

“My Ser, My Lady!” their interpreter yelled as he sprinted across the beach to them.  “We need to leave the shore.  A storm is here and it is big.”  The little grey boy gestured widely with his hands to demonstrate.  “Now we shelter in the castle.”  It was the only stone structure on the island.

Jaime stood so quickly she wondered if she had imagined what had just nearly happened between them.  She gathered her things and they followed their interpreter down the dirt road that wound its way up to the castle.  Around them a scene of havoc played out.  Hordes of natives ran to the castle, and the urgency and fear in their eyes made Brienne uneasy.  What was this storm that scared even them?  A baby wailed in its mother’s arms next to them, children were yanked by their arms in an effort to move them along faster, and the elderly crept along at a snail’s pace.  They passed a few carts loaded with old people too frail to make it to the castle on foot.  Brienne and Jaime looked at one another.  Brienne nodded, then both of them turned back down the road, much to their interpreter’s dismay.

“My Ser, My Lady!  We must go to the castle!” he yelled as he came after them.

“Go to your family.  We will see you there,” Jaime said in a commanding voice that sent a shiver down Brienne’s spine.  She’d seen him at his lowest, so sometimes it was hard to remember what a powerful man he was.

They stopped at the first group of people struggling to get their elders into the a driftwood wagon.

Jaime looked at her, realizing that they could not communicate their intentions with words.  He put his arms out, as one would to a child that wanted to be picked up.  The woman in charge of the situation grabbed his hands and said something in their native tongue, then gestured for Jaime to pick up an old woman.  She was shriveled and frail, and Jaime could have lifted her with one arm, so he had no problem scooping her up gently.  He flashed a charming smile down at the old grandmother in his arms, and she turned a deeper shade of blue.

Brienne rolled her eyes at him.  “Your charm is not lost on her.”

“And you?” he asked, then whisked the old woman away before she could answer.  Brienne picked up the elderly man and trudged up to the castle to deposit him safely behind its stone walls.  The old man’s daughter hugged Brienne’s leg and wept into the hem of her dress, and Brienne patted her tiny shoulder.

On the third run, the rain came.  It was warm but violent and when it pelted into her it felt as sharp as daggers in her skin.  Lightning lit up the sky and a bolt struck a palm tree not far from her.  The fronds exploded in an orange blaze of fire.  One of the little children she had in her arms giggled and reached for it.

Finally, once all the residents were accounted for, their interpreter found her.

“Senator Maroo is very thankful, very thankful,” he puffed.  He was out of breath and flushed, obviously worked up about the whole thing.

“Is your family alright?” Brienne asked.

“Yes, My Lady, they are happy to be in the castle.  I will take you to a room you may use until the storm ends and it is safe to return to your hut.”

The slip of a boy led her up a turning flight of stone stairs.  Brienne climbed them with ease, but they were nearly too tall for him.  Clearly this castle was built for someone her size.  She nearly helped him once, but she did not want to injure his pride.  At the top of the stairs, he asked her to take a torch from the wall since he could not reach it, and then took her down a dark hallway.  Many of the doors they passed were open, and inside she could see whole families crowded into tiny rooms, but it was the only way to fit an entire island into one castle.

Once she was to her room, she lit the candles with the torch then handed it back to the boy.

“Don’t worry, my Lady.  The storm will pass,” he said reassuringly.  “Good night.”  He flitted off down the hallway, and she closed the door with a sigh.

She was soaked to the bone and actually starting to shiver.  The storm had pulled in cold air from the ocean, so she built a small fire in the ancient hearth.  Then she stripped off her clothing and hung up dress carefully over the back of a chair.  She had nothing to change into, so she sat in front of the fire in her shift and smallclothes waiting for them to dry.

Outside, the storm built in intensity, and she began to wonder where Jaime was.  Rain beat against the stone walls, and flashes of lightning lit up the room in a brilliant white.  One time, the thunder cracked so loudly she jumped in her chair.

Her clothes has just dried when someone knocked on the door.  She stood and before she could open it, the door opened on its own and Jaime strode in.  His clothes clung to him and his hair was wet and pointing every which way.  She wanted to say something, but when he looked at her, her voice died in her throat.  His green eyes met hers.  They were laden with something that both frightened and exhilarated her, and she wanted to turn away from him as he came towards her.  But something made her feel reckless this night.  As the storm crashed into the castle outside, each crack of thunder was building to an unavoidable abandon.  She’d faced down white walkers and wights, and tonight she would not run from Jaime.  Instead of turning away from him, she stepped towards him.

He seemed caught off guard for a moment, but then continued to stalk towards her until she was in his arms.  Brienne put her hands on his chest.  He was warm and strong, and her clothing got wet all over again from being pressed against his rain soaked body.

Then when she met his eyes once more she saw a tender uncertainty there.  She put her hand to his cheek, and that seemed to give him his courage back and he slid his hand around the back of her head and kissed her.  Nothing in her life had ever been so sweet, and as his lips moved against hers followed by his tongue begging entrance into her mouth, she realized that tonight there would be no learning curve.  Once he’d thoroughly plundered her mouth, he stopped and moved his mouth to the side of her neck.  His breath was ragged against her skin as he trailed tiny kisses along her flesh.  Then he whispered to her.

“I don’t want to part from you ever again.  Marry me.”

“What?” she gasped. “Jaime-”

“Please, Brienne.  I can’t stand the thought of not being near you.  I can’t go back to a life without you.  You’re the only thing that matters.”  He breathed against her cheek and his hand gripped her hip, but he was still as stone.  She was flush against him with every part of her body interlocked with his, like two pieces that were broken and finally put back together.

“I will,” she said and it was as if spring had bloomed all over again.  Then the lightning cracked, lighting up the room for a moment, and she saw the hungry look had returned to his eyes.  “Now give me what I want,” she whispered.  She could not believe the words that just come from her mouth, but before she could worry that she had gone too far, Jaime responded in earnest.  He pressed his lips to hers and devoured her, slipping his tongue into her mouth and crushing her against him.  She pulled his hips into her and felt his arousal press hard against her belly.  When their kiss broke it left them both gasping for air.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” he questioned as his hand slipped beneath the thin, damp fabric of her shift.  She arched into him.  “I think you do,” he whispered.  His hand ran up her sides then across her breasts.  An ache blossomed between her legs and she pressed herself against him.  “I think you do know.  And I would be remiss to disappoint my lady wife.”  Then he pulled her shift off over her head, tousling her hair in the process and leaving nothing but her smallclothes to cover the place between her thighs.  He pressed his lips to her neck then moved down her chest, kissing along one of her small breasts until he reached her nipple and flicked his tongue against it.

“Jaime!” she cried out, nearly scolding him.

“Quiet, wife.  I know what I’m doing.”  Then he lowered his lips back to her breast and took her nipple into his mouth.  The action sent waves of pleasure through her core and she ran her fingers through his hair, grabbing on for dear life.  He spent quite a long time lavishing attention on her breasts, and it took her a bit to realize that he was enjoying it perhaps even more than she was.  He rubbed his hardness against her rhythmically and finally began to groan into her flesh.  She felt his thumb hook through the waist of her smallclothes and give a cautious tug.  Without hesitation, she wiggled her hips and helped him slip them down.  Then he knelt down before her and ran his hand down one of her legs before slinging her knee up over his shoulder.  The look of want in his eyes was shocking as he pressed his mouth against her sex and began to lick and suck.  The one leg she had left to stand on nearly gave out, and then he slipped a finger inside her and the sensation became too much.  She cried out as waves of pleasure engulfed her.  Her hands reached for anything to grab onto to keep herself upright.

He gripped her ass and leaned back to look up at her.  What she thought would be a smug expression was actually one of trepidation.  Jaime, in all his power and beauty, was nervous too.

“Gods, Jaime,” she whispered as she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders.

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked.

“Yes, though I don’t think I knew it.”  She smiled.  “Now I want you to take me to bed.”

He stood and captured her lips again and then they stumbled toward the little bed that was much to short for them both.  She pulled his breeches down and his cock sprang out and nestled between her thighs.  Jaime smirked at her as he laid her back on the bed, but she kissed him before he could speak.  She felt his head at her folds and he slowly entered her.  It was a strange, stretching sensation, something she never thought she would feel, let alone with a man she loved.  And she did love him, there was no doubt in her heart.  Then he rolled over onto his back and pulled her her with him against his chest.  Her cheek pressed against his as he hugged her close and began to thrust up into her.  She could feel his heart pounding against her breast and she buried her face into his shoulder.  There would be no pleasure in this part for her as everything was a little raw, but she felt a flood of emotion when Jaime came.  He spilled his seed deep within her and she felt a warmth in her heart at the realization that, gods willing, they would make a child together.  But hopefully not tonight, and she nearly laughed at the thought.  She would give him children, strong sons that he could claim as his own, and daughters as well.  Tears prickled at her eyes when she imagined Jaime in the practice yard with a son who would call him father.

“Are you alright?” he murmured against her cheek.  “You know I meant it, don’t you?  I want to marry you.  I love you, Brienne.”

Then her tears welled over and down her cheeks, silent little rivulets that Jaime kissed away.  Then he pressed his lips to hers and she tasted the salt of them and answered him back.  “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to need a lot of emotional support if these two don't get together. Also, I cannot watch the latest trailer in front of my husband because I'm afraid he will figure out that I am in love with Jaime Lannister :D
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I really hope it was an enjoyable, fun read. And thank you for all feedback, it means the so much to me!


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